I Was Wrong

by virtualailee

Under the suit Tony Stark is a deeply flawed man. He has scars, many scars; every one a reminder of a mistake, a failure, a death. A haunted man. But he is never going to stop fighting his demons. Sometimes he wins. This time, he lost. From Steve's POV with Tony!whump. Inspired by "Accidents Can Happen" by Sixx: AM.

"Have a good day, Mr Stark, Captain Rogers."

"Yep, see you next month or so, Anna."

Steve nodded slightly at the young brunette who was holding the door open for the both of them. She had a SHIELD ID pinned to her chest and a mischievous quirk on her lips. Steve caught her emerald eyes drift downwards for a second before meeting Tony's, who merely waved as he walked by.

"I know I said I don't have the time to go to the Triskelion," Tony said as the door closed with a sharp click behind them, "but that warehouse has enough structural weak points it could've been built from hay. And don't think I missed the lady checking you out."

Steve pretended not to hear that but he blushed all the way to the ears anyway.

They walked on in comfortable silence into West Street, Manhattan. Tony had spent the past three weeks in his Malibu mansion alone, getting busy in his workshop as Pepper handled the day-to-day administration of Stark International. He had his machines to tinker, JARVIS to take care of him, his pet robots to nurse the occasional pang of solitude at home. In between minor explosions and accidental fires, Tony would take his shoes off and run along the beach, arms flailing around in the wind. Still, there was a hollow ache in his gut that he could not fill no matter how much he worked, and when he saw Steve waiting for him at the airport, he realised he'd actually missed the company of a friend. Arguably Fury may be an exception… As much as he missed this place (and the people, but let's not bring it up again), he certainly could do without New York's traffic or crowd, or its midday sun so hot it was scalding his face. He was just about to complain when thunder rumbled from afar. He looked up into the sky. Steve glanced upwards too and chuckled, "It's not Thor."

They stopped at the intersection as heavy vehicles flowed before them in one continuous stream. "I know. Not expecting him till July fourth, right?"

"Right. July fourth. You're not up to something, are you?"

"I do no such thing!" Tony replied indignantly. "I just happened to tell him someone's turning 96 that day and here in Midguard that calls for a celebration. That's mead and roasted bilgesnipe and what have you all around. Besides," Tony smirked, "we kinda owe you 70 years' worth of birthday toasts."

"Nobody owes me anything –"

"I throw the most amazing parties, and I just sent out the invitations…" Tony took out his phone with practiced ease and typed something very quickly, "like two seconds ago, so."

"Tony, I appreciate this, I really do, but –"

There was a ping! on the phone and Tony tapped on it. "Clint said yes and he's volunteered to bring the candles. Come on Steve, we'll even sing the Star-Spangled Banner as you cut your cake."

Half of his face melted into a cringe. Tony does throw the meanest parties in town but Steve wasn't so sure he'd like to spend his evening entertaining diplomats and aristocrats. Fury might even want him to put his suit on and turn it into a mini anti-terrorism conference. The traffic broke and Tony laughed as they crossed the road.

"Relax, not gonna make you karaoke one-hit wonders in front of a congress. It's just gonna be the few of us, with Sam and Pepper, maybe Phil too. Come to think of it, a get-together will be good for the team's morale, what with all the crap Fury's dumping on us. He's not invited by the way, the fun sucker he is."

Steve smiled as Tony attended to his buzzing phone again. Their shoulders bumped when Tony, eyes still glued to the screen, turned left while Steve had angled to his right.

"Stop looking at your phone when you're walking. And go right, I parked the car by the pharmacy."

Not eight hours ago, Tony had flown into New York to answer Fury's urgent call for a meeting. From what Steve gathered, SHIELD radars had picked up fresh trails of a rogue terrorist faction in Kuala Lumpur attempting to weaponise technologies patented by Stark International. SHIELD agents tasked with infiltrating the underground base recovered blueprints of potential WMDs. Fury demanded to know what exactly they could do but the engineering was so advanced their scientists weren't sure where to start looking. Fury's plan B was to call Tony at 7 pm and said, "You know how people tend to make bombs from your toys? I want to know who and how, so drop whatever you're doing and get your ass down here. You got six hours." When Tony finally cat-walked through the door – doesn't matter it was three in the morning – he flashed his trademark megawatt grin and a small salute to Fury and Steve. He studied the blueprints and didn't say much beyond the occasional chin scratching. But Steve noted the bags hanging below his eyes and the pastiness of his skin under the harsh fluorescent light. By dawn, Tony concluded that while the science behind the weapons was sound, it was impossible to fabricate; in order to produce rapid ejection force, its metal core must oscillate between a semi-gaseous and semi-solid state at a tightly regulated interval. Not very doable given Earth's temperature and pressure, apparently. It seemed like this bunch of terrorists had gotten hold of some alien technology and probably tried to reverse engineer the artefact. And since SHIELD had not recovered anything else besides the blueprints, well that just made the day for Fury, eh?

Tony was still upbeat by the time they adjourned the meeting but looked every bit as haggard as the night before. Steve invited him for breakfast but Tony declined, saying he had to get back to SI before Pepper chewed his head off for disappearing on another board meeting. Again. He yawned widely, massaging the stiff tendons in his neck as he did so. So Steve offered to drive him to the airport instead. Tony smirked at the black SUV that Steve was motioning him to get into; if he had an opinion he didn't share it, and frankly it was a shame that this ride didn't have a grittier edge to it but if SHIELD was paying for it, Steve wasn't going to complain. Fifteen minutes into the journey their chatters quieted. Steve didn't bother with the radio, ignoring the silence that hung heavy between them. He glanced sideways to see Tony staring groggily out of the window.

He cleared his throat. "You know, for a man who'd spent three weeks at home, you look like you could use more rest."

Tony blinked and turned to Steve. "Huh?"

"You don't look that good. Maybe you should start paying some attention to yourself."

"Yeah. But the company isn't going to run itself."

Steve sighed. When a Stark has set his mind to it, there really is no stopping him. "Look, it'll take us sometime to reach the airport. You want to get a shut eye or something?"

Tony leaned deeper into his seat, "Wake me up when we're there."

Just as he said that, a rain drop hit the windscreen, and another, and then it practically poured. Steve started his windscreen wiper and groaned inwardly as traffic slowed to a crawl. At this rate it'd be a miracle if they could still make it for Tony's scheduled flight. But considering the plane had "STARK" emblazoned over the sides…

Then he thought he heard soft rustle of cotton on PVC leather. He wasn't quite paying attention; the car ahead crawled a couple of inches more so he eased off his brakes. Then Tony jerked violently in his seat, a portrait of agony and fear. Steve made for his shoulders, trying to rouse him from his sleep. His mouth was moving rapidly, forming words too soft for even Steve's enhanced hearing to pick up amidst the torrential downpour.

"Not building it – leave him alone – I'm sorry – so sorry – leave him –"

"Tony? Wake up."

"No, no – stop –"

"Come on, wake up."

"Don't do it – no –"

Steve grabbed Tony by the collar and shook him as hard as he dared. Tony's eyes flew open, rabid with silent horror and started throwing wild punches. Steve knew that was coming; he deflected every blow deftly with his forearm.

"Deep breath Tony, you're OK."

The car behind them honked and Tony froze. His knuckles went white against his seat belt and he suddenly scrabbled for its release button. Steve quickly caught him by the wrists. "Wait, we're in the middle of the highway –"

"Out – I need, to get out –"

He saw the desperation in Tony's dilated eyes – how he was more than willing to jump out of the car to escape. Every scattered piece of remote lucidity snapped into place and Steve immediately held Tony fast around the chest with a free arm, pushing him roughly into his seat. Then he one-handedly swerved the SUV into the emergency lane and accelerated, looking for the gas station he knew was just somewhere down the road.

Now safe in relative seclusion, Tony fumbled for the door, half-stumbled to the ground where he started retching onto the curb. Steve got out and ran around the car. They had a roof above them but the wind was ferocious enough to carry the rain at a low angle. He watched mutedly as Tony spat bile and saliva – he hadn't had breakfast, probably skipped dinner too going by the pool of mess before him – and Steve didn't know what to do.

Tony lowered himself ungraciously on the tarmac and let his head rest on the car. He closed his eyes. Fuck, he could still hear Yinsen calling out for him. Fucking rain, he'd give anything right now not to hear it fall, because then he could stop seeing how the water had dripped off him when they'd done dunking his head in the basin, or blood dripped down his stomach when they hook him up to a car battery. His chest burned and he groaned, the acridity of his vomit stinging his throat.

A warm hand fastened around his biceps. Steve was still watching him intently. Tony spoke first, "This never happened, all right? You're gonna pretend nothing'd happened."

He knew Steve. Knew that he'd take on the burden of another man, knew that if there was the tiniest possibility of being able to help he would. But right now he needed Steve to let go.

Please, forget you ever see this.

Steve nodded. He knew he should help, that Tony needed help, but he nodded nonetheless. Eventually the shakings and heaving stopped and they got back into the car. Tony had not dared to take a nap again. He didn't speak either, merely watched the sceneries go by as Steve manned the steering wheel. They got to the airport an hour after the intended departure time but no matter, the plane and her pilot was still there on the runway, waiting. Tony waved Steve good bye and then he was gone.

Steve didn't sleep that night.

In the next month or two Steve remained in Brooklyn. There were moments when the incessant tick-tock of his wall clock seem too loud, mocking him that time now flows, not frozen anymore. He wasn't one to idle, but in this future – present, he corrected himself – everything was made so convenient suddenly he had more time in hand than he used to. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't trying hard enough; people these days are always rushing off somewhere, too busy to even greet their neighbours. People also like their Internet a lot, but this he could relate with, indeed a wonderful creation the Internet is. After clearing his dinner he settled in his bed and went online. Tonight he discovered "fanfictions", and after learning what the word actually meant, had then went looking (courageously) for "Captain America" ones. A rather interesting experience, he admitted dryly as he flipped the screen of his sleek, black laptop down. Wistfully he turned to stare at his bedside clock, the tick-tock getting louder by the second.

He remembered that one time Tony dropped by to pass him a box. The billionaire had also commented that nobody uses analogue anything anymore. He then asked Tony to stay for coffee but he said no, that he was needed elsewhere. He left as suddenly as he appeared and Steve wasn't sure if he'd just imagined Tony walking around his living room. The box Tony had left him felt corporeal enough; it contained a laptop and a phone, all bearing the initials "SI". There was a handwritten note too – Tony still remembers how to work a pencil! – listing all the movies, songs, world events and books he'd missed while he was "away". That was one year ago. Come to think of it Steve realised he hadn't actually thanked Tony for the nice gesture. He wasn't quite sure how people arrange for appointments with one Chairman of SI these days but he figured he should call first. He scrolled down the contact list on his Starkphone, finally tapping the green button under "Tony S".

"Hi, may I speak to Mr Stark please?"

He heard a shuffle on the other end before Tony spoke lightly, "Steve, it's a cell phone, your call goes direct to the recipient. Well, most of the time anyway."

Steve grimaced inwardly. He knew that. It was just a habit he had trouble shaking off.

"It's a bit late though. Always get the feeling you sleep early. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. It's been a year and I, uh, haven't actually thanked you for the laptop and the phone, so I wonder if it's OK if we go grab some lunch tomorrow. I'm buying."

There was the briefest moment of silence; he imagined Tony going through his schedule and checking if he could accommodate Steve for lunch.

"Look, it's fine if you're booked. We can always catch up another time –"

"Lunch is no good, I've got to go down to the warehouse for a meeting. Tell you what, there's a pretty good pizza parlour three blocks down, maybe you can grab something so we can eat in for dinner? I should be back by… seven."

Steve smiled. "Sounds good."

"Ask for James Simpson. I'll let him know I'm expecting you and he'll show you the way to my lab. By the way, I'm working on upgrading the Avenger's outfit with the latest generation of impact absorber. I'll show you the prototype, you'll be thrilled."

Steve didn't have much to do the next day, so he packed his sketchbook and some charcoal pencils and left home a few hours earlier than he intended to. The pizza parlour Tony mentioned was easy to spot; the queue was unbelievable. He joined it, absently wondering if Tony would mind his pineapples to go with shrimps. Just as a lady in a chequered red blouse was about to take his order, they were rudely interrupted by a blaring alarm and the stench of burned rubber. He heard a stampede; a mob fleeing from the direction of the Bank of New York. Steve took off. The aftermath of a robbery was evident enough but he couldn't have missed the culprits by a long shot. He ran again. The only logical thing to do next was to get out of the city streets and that meant taking this route – and his eyes, bright and firm, found his mark – a blue Ford with back windshield so dusty he could barely make out the silhouette of three men. The engine roared, they must've spotted him. Trying to make a run for it?

Nothing Captain America couldn't handle.

By the time he shoved three very bruised robbers into the long arm of the law – or the NYPD in the more literal sense – Steve was already late. He realised he still hadn't bought the pizza and ran all the way back to the pizza parlour. The queue was gone by now and the window blinds were drawn. He located the kitchen and startled the poor pizzaiolo, who then proceeded to brandish a cleaver and threaten to have the police arrest him for trespassing. Steve immediately raised both hands in the air, said that he wasn't armed, that he had a really important appointment tonight and he was late and had promised to bring home some pizza.

Thirty minutes later, Steve made his way to SI with two boxes of piping hot stuffed crust pizzas topped with generous amount of pineapples, pepperoni and cheddar cheese.

Now all he'd left to do was to ask for one James Simpson, who turned out to be a security guard. Steve was slightly surprised at that, that Tony actually knew someone of the lower hierarchy of a company as big as this. James was positively delighted that Tony was receiving guest tonight.

"Mr Stark has been real busy lately. Rarely leaves his lab, always working alone, and I thought he looked kinda ill this morning. Feverish, you know what I mean?"

Steve nodded vaguely. Tony's private lab was in the basement. Apparently only a select few employee had access to this floor, so perhaps it was not so surprising to find the corridor deserted.

"OK Captain Rogers, this is where I leave you," James said as he keyed in his access code on the electronic panel. "In you go. Mr Stark's workspace is in the front, but since it's all dark in there, he's probably at the back area. Just keep on walking." He winked, and then he was gone.

Steve stood in the darkened space of the lab. He looked around nervously, even more aware of the steam from his pizzas warming up his knuckles. He half-expected Tony to suddenly emerge from the shadows with a "boo!" (because sadly Tony wasn't above doing that). Thankfully glaring white lights started turning on, starting from where he was at the entrance and progressing slowly towards the back. Sensors, Steve guessed. Very convenient. Still no ACDC playing obnoxiously loud by the time he was halfway through.

"Tony? It's Steve. You down here?"

Eventually, he reached the back corner of the lab that honestly, looked starkly different from the front area where he had come from. Cosier. There was a brown carpet on the ground, a Pollock on the wall, a sink and a couch which was currently occupied by a very much fast asleep Tony. Steve set the pizzas and his bag on the table. James wasn't exaggerating when he said Tony look ill. The bags under his eyes stood out even in the darkness and his features exuded fatigue not unlike a man who'd toiled too hard and long on the job.

At least he was sleeping.

There was an ugly yellow blanket lay crumpled beside the couch. Steve recovered it and draped it over Tony's prone form. Just as he was tucking it under Tony's chin, his fingers grazed the top of the arc reactor and it all went downhill from there; Tony woke with a loud gasp, his hands closed painfully around Steve's wrist. His body went stiff, his eyes wide open and focused on a spot a few inches above Steve's shoulders.

"God, Tony, calm down, it's me."

The grip around Steve's wrist tightened. That was bound to leave a bruise. Steve turned to look at what Tony was staring at, but there wasn't anything interesting save for an empty whiteboard.

"Tony," Steve called out, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Listen to me, whatever you're seeing, it's not real, OK? You're here, in your lab, and I got us both dinner."

Tony let out a trembling exhale. He released Steve only to reach up to clench a shaky fist over his heart. Steve's own skipped a beat – what now, a heart attack? He'd read Tony's medical report, had known of the mess of bungled bones and flesh around the housing of the arc reactor. The ambulance – he needed his fucking phone –

"Obie…"

Tony's breath hitched again. His face crumpled and Steve quickly made to steady him by the shoulders.

"I trusted you, Obie…"

"Tony, it's Steve –"

"Can't let you get Pepper – not Pepper –"

Steve cupped Tony's head by the jaws and forced those glassy brown eyes to meet his. Tony was still focusing on that spot beside Steve's ears.

"Tony, look at me!"

Slowly, so slowly, he did. His breathing was still harsh to his ears and Steve wasn't sure if he'd gotten Tony back. He'd seen this look before – in the wars, on people who returned home because they made sure the people on the other side could not.

"It's all right. No one's hurting you, or Pepper."

The light returned to his eyes. He blinked once, and a single tear escaped the dark lashes.

"Get out," he whispered, his expression steeling in anger as he began to understand what he'd just done. He pulled himself out of the couch, the yellow blanket fell limply to the floor. "Get out, Steve!"

Steve scooped his bag from the table and started slowly for the exit. He knew that the actual torment wasn't in the nightmare itself, but after, with every waking moment drenched in sweat and tears. And nobody had to go it alone. But to face that all over again with someone else watching you crumble and become completely undone? Steve wasn't sure if Tony – proud, strong-willed Tony – would forgive him for that.

As Steve dragged himself to the exit, the lights dimming behind him, he looked back. Tony was slumped in the couch again, his head buried in his palms. The door sensed Steve's presence and the reinforced glass that was the door slid open.

He walked out.

Tony went silent over the next few days, which eventually stretched to three long months. No calls, no text messages, no e-mails, nothing, and the only reason Steve wasn't down at SI right now checking if he was still alive was because, TV. Tony's interview about the prospect of a joint-venture with Fujikawa Industries lasted five glorious minutes. The whole time Steve had his eyes on the billionaire, his heart clenched – relief, fury, pity, and grief – a blurry mass of emotions washing over him. If he didn't know better he'd say there never was a weeping mess in the basement lab, that this Tony Stark, the one who never failed to bedazzle anyone in his path, had never left the game. But this yoyo-ing mood had got to end somewhere. Letting off steam restores some sense of emotional balance. Shoving the crap deeper and pretending nothing is wrong takes more away.

Steve was sorry that Tony didn't want him there. But he was sorrier that as an Avenger, if Tony couldn't pull himself together when Earth needed her mightiest heroes, the gap just had to be filled by a worthier team member. And Steve couldn't bear losing the steadfast support from Iron Man in combat. He couldn't bear having Tony slip away.

Steve turned off the TV and traipsed into his bedroom. He was weary to the marrow; he'd just come home from a debriefing, so beaten and numb in more ways than one, he collapsed onto his bed when his phone buzzed with "Tony S" flashing across the screen.

"Tony, I've been meaning to call you –"

"Steve? It's Pepper."

He could almost see the mental image of Tony reminding him that cell phones take you direct to the recipient. He hesitated; how did Pepper get hold of Tony's cell?

"Good morning, ma'am. Is something the matter?"

"Yes, it's about Tony."

"Is he OK? Did something happen – is that why he can't come to his phone?"

"Yes, no, I mean, I'm not sure, Steve. I was going to have him sign some papers but he's not here, and I know he doesn't have any appointments for the rest of the day, but he's not in his office, he's not in the labs either. He left his phone on the desk and your number is on the screen, so I thought he just got off a call with you."

Steve frowned. "No, I haven't spoken to him in a while actually."

"He has another phone he keeps in his suitcase, and I've been calling it, but he hasn't been answering. JARVIS isn't responding either." By this point Pepper sounded like she was crying. "Oh God, I don't know who else to go to. There's something wrong with Tony. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, and I tried so hard but he doesn't let me in." Then her voice was all but a whisper, "I think he's drinking again."

Steve hated it when he couldn't help, and that seemed to be happening more often than he liked lately.

"There's a tracker implanted on him when he joins SHIELD. I can find him."

Steve left him apartment in under five minutes. He didn't shower, didn't change his clothes, forgot that he'd just flown home from the Triskelion and all he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears, and even then he wasn't sure if it was the effect of being awake for 50 hours straight or Tony vanishing without a trace.

Steve called Fury direct. As Director, Fury was one of the two who had access to the database linked to the trackers in every Avenger. Tony had bemoaned the breaching of privacy and usage of archaic technology while a medical staff was prepping him for the implantation. Guess it did come in handy finally – provided Tony hadn't dug it out the night after he'd gotten it.

Much to Steve's astonishment, Fury was a lot more compliant in giving up the data; he'd given the address without any more persuasion beyond "Tony is missing, his CEO is looking for him". His only annoyance was to have his own identity scrutinised because, "Got to make sure this is the real Steve Rogers I'm talking to."

"Of course. Any further doubts, Sir?"

Fury scoffed, and said, "10-8-80 Malibu Point, 90265, Malibu, California."

Tony was home.

Steve took the earliest flight available. The five hours he spent scrunched in his tiny economy class seat felt like ten. He called Pepper again after Fury, if it was any consolation he told her he was going to check on Tony himself in his Malibu mansion. Then Pepper cried again. Tony wasn't an easy man to be with. He was pompous, flamboyant in every way possible and at times never seemed capable of filtering his opinions before verbalising them. It was only a matter of time before people started leaving his sides in droves. Yet from a twisted, almost masochistic standpoint it was these very traits that draw people to Tony, like moths to light. He lay himself bare because he believed nobody deserved any less. Never believed in feel-good compliments. Makes you complacent, weak, Tony would say. At the best of times Tony the Glamorous was the glue that held the team together, the fire that spurred motivations, and when things became lacklustre, the idiot that drove people up the wall. Because then when Tony had nothing more to give, that when all he had to offer was the anguish of a flawed man, he walked away. He built a fortress around him, guarded his pain with tall walls, and stayed hidden until he'd told himself enough times that things are going to be OK.

Not on his watch this time, Steve promised, not when he knew Tony was dying inside.

It was night when he reached the main entrance of Tony's sprawling, futuristic mansion. The windows were dark and the surrounding was quiet, calm. Tony's Audi R8 was parked carelessly in the front. So he had to be in there somewhere. Steve tried the doorknob (a house like still has doorknobs?) but found it locked.

"Good evening, Captain Rogers," a toneless, bodiless echo greeted him. Steve looked up to a flat speaker perched over the door. "How may I assist you?"

"JARVIS, good to hear from you. Pepper called you a while ago but you didn't answer."

"I apologise for my lack of response. Sir has activated a protocol that prevents me from contacting external parties. In my current state, I am only allowed to respond passively to specific commands."

God help him if JARVIS wasn't going to cooperate, he was going to tear this house apart.

"Open the door, JARVIS. I need to talk to him."

And it said, "Of course, Captain."

It was hopelessly dark in the foyer and carried an air of neglect around it. He found a panel of switches on the wall and randomly pressed two buttons which switched on the recessed lighting around the stairway. At least he could now move around without using his shins to map the layout of the mansion. He was about to ask JARVIS the whereabouts of the residence owner when he picked up the unmistaken whiff of alcohol, beckoning him hither. He stumbled into another sparsely illuminated room – the hall, he guessed. There was a lush sofa set and an elliptical coffee table, a row of guitars by the bookshelves. The curtains were drawn to the sides. Moonlight streamed through the high windows. Tony was basking in it from the floor, his back flushed against the wall.

Steve approached warily, "I heard that you slipped again."

He stepped over some Budweiser bottles strewn around the floor, all empty. Eventually he came to crouch beside Tony, paler than he ever remembered. He was wearing a white dress shirt, something he only cared putting on if he was dealing with company matters. Otherwise he favoured the less restrictive T-shirts or tank tops when he worked with his machines. Pepper was right; Tony was at his office before he'd vamoose. Despite being closer to Tony than Steve would usually be comfortable with, Tony didn't shift. He kept his head hidden from sight, tilted towards the window, snubbing the rest of the world.

Steve tried again. "Pepper called. She's very worried about you."

But Tony didn't answer. Didn't do fucking anything.

"Look, ignore me all you want. But you got to stop with these self-destructive acts! Damn it, Tony, listen to me!"

And Steve clinched a fistful of Tony's collar and wrangled him a bit, but to his shock Tony collapsed sideways, his body cold and lifeless against Steve's chest. He reached for the jugular, felt a pulse that wasn't any more assuring than the erratic breaths Tony was taking. Steve lightly tapped on the side of his face. Tony didn't stir. He cradled the billionaire and lifted him from the ground, not the least relieved that Tony had lost a lot of weight in the past few months. He would know; the number of times the Avengers were aboard on the Helicarrier they used to spar, dancing around each other, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. And there was that one time when Tony did a clever (in Steve's book it was more like underhanded) manoeuvre he didn't see coming. He'd pinned Captain America to the ground much to the other Avengers' amusement.

He loaded Tony into the passenger seat of the Audi and started worrying about keys when he saw them dangling in the ignition. Steve fastened the seat belt over the unconscious form and gave him a quick grip on the shoulders. "I got you," Steve said reassuringly as he pushed the gear into reverse. "I got you, Tony."

When Tony came to there was a couple of things he was explicitly aware of; the smell of bleach, the itch in the crook of his arm where a tube was attached to him, and the scratch of pencil on paper. He groaned, realising where he was. Then the scratching stopped and a gigantic shadow loomed before him.

"Hey," it said.

Tony blinked a couple of times to clear his eyes. He looked up, and he thought he'd recognise that face anywhere.

"Steve?"

Tony inhaled deeply. There was pressure in his chest, as if he couldn't get enough air in. Steve came closer and gripped the bed's railing.

"Take it easy, you're at the hospital."

"Thought so… How did you – why are you here?"

"Pepper. She called, saying you just dropped off the surface of the earth. I tracked you to your house and you were…" Steve went to pull his plastic chair closer to the bed. It looked comically tiny when Steve sat in it, hunched forward as he studied the IV line. He had this haunted look that Tony suddenly find difficult to see, that he averted his attention to the vase of plastic sunflower by his bed instead.

"I took your car and drove you to the hospital."

"My car? God, did Captain America just frisk me for my keys –"

"You left them in the car."

Steve took his pencil and poised it over a piece of paper; it bore the hospital's emblem and the grey outline of a tower with a large "A" at its top. He started adding lines to the empty space, something that looked like a suit of armour flying towards the deck. As he drew Tony observed how the paper dented under the weight of the graphite, like Steve was applying more pressure than necessary for a simple sketch.

"The doctor said you were malnourished. Been skipping meals, Tony?"

"It's a new fad. Juices to detox your blood –"

Really? They could play this game all day.

"Your liver function tests were terrible. Between the drinking and not sleeping enough –"

"Oh, come on, Cap. We fall off the wagon sometimes. And it was just one day, I swear. I'm a busy man, in case you haven't noticed. I've got places to be, people to meet –"

"They want to profile your behavioural patterns in the past six months. And they're going to want consent to interview your family and friends as well."

There was a clatter of porcelain on the floor. The vase now smashed in a hundred pieces, forming a pool of dust around the lifeless sunflowers. Tony didn't know what came over him, that he'd swiped an arm over his bedside table. He didn't mean it, but the hurt on Steve's face made his throat burn.

He wanted Steve to hit him. Tell him that he wasn't always the centre of the universe, that other people had better things to do with their time than to tolerate this.

"You're bleeding. You tore off the tube," Steve said, not blinking at the blood running down the arm. "Wait here, I'll get the doctor –"

"Stop it," Tony grabbed at Steve's biceps, pulling him back. "Let's make this clear Cap, I want you to stop minding my fucking business."

The blood was starting to stain the white sheets. Tony held him fast, fingers tight around his flesh, desperate for the warmth of another, afraid that he'd really let go.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Tony?"

"I'm not having this conversation now. Or ever."

"The nightmares I know you're having, and that time at your lab when you had a trigger. The doctors are considering putting you on anti-anxiety meds and set you up with a psychiatrist."

"I don't need pills or a damn shrink to help me, all right? I'm fine!"

"You can't get better if you keep denying you're having a problem. You have to get help."

Tony laughed mirthlessly. That was golden. His chest heaved with the exertion and god, he felt a dash of wetness on his cheeks. He could feel himself falling apart.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing. Am I – are you suggesting that I'm about to – to go crazy? Like ship-him-to-the-nuthouse-in-a-straightjacket crazy?"

"Tony, I don't mean –"

"The hell you don't mean what you said! I know right, how much I've fucked up my life and taken others down with it. Or how I'm not even supposed to be here! I was dead, Steve. I was supposed to be dead!"

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying and failing to stem the tears that were beginning to run unrestrained down his face.

"I build weapons that annihilated cities and with them, how many have I killed, huh? I can't ever wash their blood off my hands. Ever. I said it didn't matter, just some people who probably have it coming, hell it wasn't even me doing the firing! When they took me and I became one of them who didn't matter, I thought that was my retribution. I wasn't sure I was gonna get out of the cave alive, but I'd damn well take as many Ten Rings bastards as I could with me. And he'd just had to die for me, so I could live and set things right. I tried so hard, Steve. God I tried.

"But maybe it was too late for me. To do the right thing. Because I can't ever erase what I'd done. And I don't blame him for what he did. God knows how much Obie'd given, putting up with me all these years. Raised me like a son because Dad was too busy saving the world – the man I'd trusted all my life – and I had to watch him die.

"Tony, Obadiah Stane tried to kill you. What happened afterwards was out of your control."

"I deserve that," Tony whispered, not really listening to Steve. "Maybe I'd really screwed up so bad no amount of redemption could ever save me."

"Tony, enough. I know you, and that is not you."

"The few people I have around me – Pepper, Rhodey – for a while they were the only reason I got out of bed in the morning. Then the bunch of you just walk in, freeload off my food and space. And I thought this was my second chance at getting it right. When the Chitauri were tearing you guys apart, I was ready to give it all up to protect you. The nuke flew in and I knew it was the right thing to do."

"And killing yourself is supposed to make us feel better how?" Steve asked as he pried Tony's hand from his face. He had a handkerchief in his hand, and he pressed it firmly against the puncture in Tony's arm. "You're a good man, Tony, and I'm not going to let you tell me otherwise. Sometimes your methods do hurt people. But that's why you have us. Your father achieved great things in his time. But he didn't do it alone."

Steve blotted away some stray reddish smears with his handkerchief. "You're not going to do this alone either. You've done a lot."

"Not enough."

"Then don't stop doing the right thing. This guilt is going to kill you one day if you don't let it go. It sure as hell not gonna stop you from making mistakes."

"Which tend to lead to catastrophic outcomes."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, returning Tony's arm to the bed. "Like I said, you have us. This time, lean on us."

In the longest of time, a small smile grew on Tony's lips. He relaxed into his pillow, heeding the gentle call of sleep.

"Just can't stay away, can you, Steve?"

"Not this time, Tony."

"Why are you here?"

"Because you need a friend."

Don't give up. It takes a while.